


Weightless Here

by Penknife



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Biting, Bondage, Dom/sub Play, F/M, Multiple Orgasms, Painplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:20:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25119040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penknife/pseuds/Penknife
Summary: He's strong enough, sometimes, to carry her.
Relationships: The Iron Bull/Female Lavellan (Dragon Age)
Kudos: 27





	Weightless Here

Bull has tied Mara's hands securely above her head, high enough that she can't put both feet flat on the ground. She's on her toes, her feet arched, the stretch in her calves just this side of painful. He won't let her hang by her wrists to cut off the circulation in her hands, but will correct her if she lets her heels drop with a calm, "Up." He won't let her actually fall out of the position if her legs start to shake with exhaustion. She trusts that he'll let her down far enough for her feet to touch if she needs him to. She trusts that he's judging whether she needs him to or not, so that she doesn't have to. 

He touches the back of her thigh with the wooden rod he's using, a warning—she can't see him, and she doesn't like surprises—and then whacks her smartly just above the knee. He works his way up, solid hits that leave bright lines of pain behind. One across the ass, and her breath catches, because she can feel that in her clit. Then down the back of the other leg, hard, stinging blows that sharpen her focus to each inch of exposed flesh where one lands.

She can't entirely forget who she is and where she is. Not when she can always feel her magic burning under her skin, the fire ready to blaze up in an instant. She made that clear when they began. But she can forget everything else, the cares and responsibilities outside this room. There's only her, and the feel of the stick hitting her skin, and the magic that can rest, as she rests, secure in her bonds. Everything else has gone away, along with any awareness of the passage of time. 

Some indefinite time later, the blows stop, leaving her aching and sensitive, her whole body craving touch. His rough fingers brush her nipples through the linen of her skirt, and then he pulls the shirt away from her throat to bite one shoulder, and then the other, deliberate and bruising and satisfying. They'll leave marks, and she'll wear them cheerfully in the morning.

Right now, the need to come is a hot and urgent craving. She can hear herself making little noises in the back of her throat, pleas, although she knows that "please hurry" won't have any more effect than "please stop." Only the watchword, and while he's pushed her to the edge of _too much_ before, where she's struggled to yield, right now she's entirely satisfied, floating on sensation.

"You're doing good," he says, and bends down to cup his hands under her thighs. "I think you're ready."

She is so ready. Her clit feels swollen and so sensitive that the slightest touch will tip her over the edge from arousal into desperate orgasm. He lifts her and holds her, something that's easy for him, the tip of his cock just pressing against her folds. "Please, please, please, please," she says, and then laughs at herself, a breathless catch in her throat.

"Good thing I already said you're ready," Bull says. "Because 'please' doesn't work right now." 

She knows it doesn't. There's nothing, right now, to bargain for or command. There's only this, the feel of his hands cradling her thighs, the solid heat of his chest against her back, the urgency that makes her rock her hips and strain against his firm and unyielding grip.

"I'll take it when you tell me to," she says.

"Take it," he says, and lowers her down onto his cock in one slow and steady motion, a hot hard slide that stretches her just to the point of a sweet ache. Her breath catches, ragged, her muscles spasming around his cock, not quite orgasm but so close she can feel the tightening down to the aching soles of her feet.

He isn't moving in her, and from the ragged shift in his own breathing she feels a momentary amused triumph. He's holding this still so that he won't come too soon, trying to master the urge to thrust her in order to give her what she needs. She can feel him breathing through it, feel him relax against her as he manages control, and then he's lifting her again, rocking her up and down on his cock, that hot sweet stretch, again and again and again—

Then he shifts position, letting one of her legs down so that her toes touch the floor, and for a moment, that’s the most marvelous sensation, the cool stone under the ball of her foot. She's entirely here, entirely alive, and then he reaches around with the hand he's freed and rubs two rough fingertips across her clit.

She _screams_ when she comes, making noise the way she never would have in a Dalish tent, a shriek of triumph at the absolutely thundering release. He works her through the peak, and the shuddering, breathless relief, and then lets her thrust, pinned between his fingers and his cock, as she feels the second orgasm coming, the urge she always gets the second time to try to take him deeper, harder, more—

He won't let her thrust as hard as she's trying to, as hard as she would if she were riding a more proportionally-sized cock. Instead he rubs her clit harder, and she arches her back and strains against him, sweat pouring down her forehead, hauling herself up by the ropes that hold her so that she can slam herself down harder. She comes again, with a strangled cry, and just as the last fluttering cramps of it are starting to recede, he thrusts in her, and she feels herself right back on the edge of orgasm.

"I can't, I can't," she gasps, because she feels so _much,_ her desperate craving for another climax warring with the cramping in her muscles and the sweat crawling down her back, and she wants, but there's nothing she's certain she can do about it.

"One more," he says, and rocks her against him, his hard cock shifting in and out of her, his fingers working on her oversensitive clit. There's nothing she has to do. He's got her, steadying her, holding her, as the third orgasm gathers and then blossoms between her thighs. The breath she lets out this time is a sigh rather than a scream.

Bull lifts her again, drawing her up so that his cock is thrusting between her thighs rather than penetrating her. She's come that way before, her knees pressed together around his cock like she'd rub against someone's thigh, but there's nothing left in her right now but little aftershocks of pleasure as he thrusts. She's coming back to an awareness of things in the room besides her own sensations, like slowly surfacing from a warm bath.

"You can't wait," she says, because she can't resist teasing at this moment.

"You think?" he says, but she knows him by now, and she's not surprised when he draws a sudden desperate breath, and then spatters the stones with his release. "Damn. Shows what I know."

"A lot," she says, because she is more grateful she can say for this. She feels worked over and wrung out, all tension melted away to the point that she's not at all certain she can stand.

As if in answer to the thought, Bull reaches up to release her from the ropes with one hand and sweeps her up in his other arm. She lets herself be carried to the bed, her head leaned back against his broad arm. They sprawl there. Nothing else seems to urgently require her attention. Eventually she stretches her toes experimentally to release the cramps that are threatening to start in her calves.

"How was that?" he asks, and she shifts around to use his side as a pillow. He likes to talk after sex, likes to talk about sex, which she's not entirely used to, but definitely doesn't dislike.

"You know the feeling, when you're in a really warm bath, and you don't want to get out?" she says finally. "Even though you know that you can't stay in the water forever, and if you tried, you'd only get all prune-y."

"Prune-y," he repeats, the corner of his good eye crinkling with amusement. She's deciding that there's a difference between the things that Bull jokes about and the things that he privately thinks are funny, and is enjoying exploring what all of those things might be.

"So you get out, and you're heavier, and it's cold, but you still can't stay in the water forever."

"It'll be here," Bull says, and she thinks he means, _I'll be here_.

"I'm glad," she says, and sits up to start cooling off and putting her clothes back on.

"Any time, boss," he says, and it's a weight settling back onto her shoulders, but gently, like strong hands helping her to balance the load she knows is hers to carry.


End file.
